Hunter
by TheGreatHetzer
Summary: 1945, the war is at a bitter stalemate. The Germans and Americans are at each others throats, and the war could go either way. Follow the courageous crew of the T-29 nicknamed "Hunter" as they fight the Germans across Europe. Rated T because im paranoid.
1. Chapter 1

**Yes, I know it's short, but it's an introduction chapter. This is a nice little idea I had that I hope to continue, read and review!**

1945: World War 2 has been raging for 6 years now, and is still in a bitter stalemate. Russia had been crushed back in 1941, as the Luftwaffe had bombed the Soviets into extinction. Turning it's undivided attention to Britain and America, the Germans had unveiled their newest tank projects, a series of prototypes such as the Lowe and the E-100. In the air, the Germans had also taken control using their new ME-262's.

Intimidated by these new designs, the Allies had rushed their own prototypes into full production. America had started to mass produce the new T-29, possibly the only American tank capable of engaging the new King Tiger and Lowe tanks. More designs were on the way, but the US believed the T-29 could hold up until they arrived. The British, on the other hand, had mainly focused on tank destroyers. The new AT-series where known for their armor, and the FV 215b (183) in particular was feared for its massive gun. Britain's greatest achievement, however, was the excellent Centurion series. These tanks were loved by Americans and British crews alike, who loved their excellent maneuverability and firepower. Using these new tanks, the Allies had managed to hold their own.

One regiment in particular had been taking the fight to the Germans for 4 years, the 17th Heavy tank Battalion. Made up entirely of T-29's and M26 Pershings, This is the story of the crew of the "_Hunter_," a T-29 that had been fighting since 1944. Crewed by a group of valiant Americans, they have been sticking the fight to Germany since the war began. This is their story, these are their experiences.

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><p>"Contact left!" Yelled the commander, receiving a nod from the gunner.<p>

"35 degrees to the left! Short range!" The gunner of the tank turned the turret quickly, stopping dead on target. He looked through his sights, and elevated the gun accordingly. The cannon breach opened up, and the loader picked up a 105mm AP round, slamming it into the breach.

"FIRE!" Yelled the commander. The gun fired with great force, sending a shell across a road and into the hull of a Tiger 1. The Tiger careened to the right, falling into a ditch and bursting into flames.

"Kill confirmed! The commander said, receiving a cheer from the crewmates.

"That's our fifth kill this week sir!" Said the radioman, with a large smile on his face.

"And I doubt it'll be the last, Tiger II, range: 200 yards!" the commander replied, looking through the periscope. The Tiger II turned its turret towards the _Hunter_, and fired an 88mm shell. The warhead made impact with the turret cheek, bouncing off due to the angled armor. It left a sizzling scratch on the turret, another battle scar for the old girl.

"76 degrees to the right, mid range!" The commander barked. The loader picked up an APCR round, and shut it inside the cannon barrel. Without the commander needing to yell it, the gunner quickly rotated the turret on target, and fired a shell right into the lower glacis of the King Tiger tank. The tank exploded, blowing the turret clean off the enemy vehicle. The commander of the _Hunter_ jumped out of his seat in excitement, cheering with a smile on his face.

"Kill confirmed, that makes 7!" He yelled, his crew cheering even louder this time. The radio crackled to life, with the voice of a British tank crew coming over.

"_That was a fantastic show mates, bloody good job!_" The voice said. The radioman smiled, and listened some more. After about 15 seconds, he looked up to his commander.

"That's it, we've kept the Germans at bay again sir!" He said. The crew relaxed a bit, and the commander unlatched the cupola. He popped his head out, and looked out at the battlefield. 4 Tiger 1s, three Tiger II's, and a Lowe, all burning. The commander smiled at the display, and ordered his tank around. America might just stand a chance after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2! I'm glad you guys liked it so far, I promise to make the chapters longer, starting with this one.**

Heads turned around at the base to see a very familiar tank roll in. Any experienced crew knew who that tank belonged to, with all the scratches and battle scars. The tank drove through the front gate of the base, and came to a stop in front of the refueling and rearming depot. A group of young men came out of the hatch, high fiving and hugging like brothers. Well, they were brothers to each other.

"That was our 7th kill this week, and it's only Thursday!" Yelled the gunner. He was an excited little man by the name of John Edwards, though his buddies just called him Joe. Everyone liked Joe, everyone excluding the Krauts, that is. He came from Charlotte NC, where he had been all his life until the war came.

"Yeah, who knows what we might rack up by the end of the week?" Replied the loader with a smile. His name was Jackson Cromsly, and had a distinguishable British accent. He was from Britain, but he had lived in America for 5 years when the war started. Some made fun of him, but he didn't mind.

"Well, the Brits sure liked our display. Who can blame them though?" Said the Radioman with a chuckle. The others laughed to that, especially Jackson. The Radioman was Rick Bradly, and hailed from good old Brooklyn USA. The commander hopped back up on his tank, and stood next to the massive turret. He examined it for a bit, until he found where the King Tiger had struck it earlier.

"Ah come on, we just patched her up Sunday!" He said, rubbing his tank's wound. The others smiled at that, the commander had a bond with his tank like none other. God, they thought, he treated it like it was alive!

"Come on cap, it's just a scratch. Nothing they can't fix up." Said the driver, a man by the name of David. David always looked at the bright side of things, something the crew admired and liked. He was also known for keeping his cool in bad times. There were even rumors that he had kept his cool while bailing out of a burning Sherman back in 42, even while assisting his wounded driver escape. The secondary loader placed his hand on David's shoulder and smiled.

"He'll get over it eventually, don't worry about it." He said.

"Let's go get a bite to eat." The crew got together and walked over to the makeshift diner, thankful they had captured the place intact. "The best food you'll ever taste," they called it. As they walked in, they sat down at a table across from some familiar faces. The leader of that table turned around, and stood up with a smile.

"Ah, the _Hunter_! Thanks for watching our backs today; that Lowe might have gotten us if it wasn't for you chaps." The man said, he and his Centurion crew were all very grateful, and jumped up to shake hands.

"You Brits are fine fighters, that's for sure." The commander replied. He shook hands with the Centurion commander, who then asked him a question.

"What's your name anyway?" The man asked.

"Just call me Richie." He said with a smile. The captain had never told his crew much about him, all they really knew was his name and that he was a hard veteran.

"Richie, nice to meet you formally." Said the Brit. The two crews talked for a while, and the Secondary Loader sparked an interesting conversation about the Red Socks. The Centurion crew seemed interested in the American sport, one of them had actually played it once. Leo was the Secondary Loader's name, and he was a talkative one. In battle, however, he was usually silent.

The conversation continued for a good long while, around 30 minutes. The crews ate, and shook hands before leaving the diner.

"I'm telling you guys, we're gonna make the history books!" Leo rambled about the amount of kills they had achieved for the past while, over the last month alone they had knocked out 23 Kraut tanks.

"Yeah yeah, I don't care about that. I'm here for my little brother." Replied the driver. The others fell silent for a few moments, remembering how sad David was when he got the letter. His brother had lost his head in 43, when a Tiger his the ammo rack of his Sherman. David always wanted revenge for that, always. They walked on for a little while, until the commander saw some infantry sitting on his tank. Richie ran over yelling, mad as a bat out of hell.

"GET OFF MY TANK!" He yelled. The infantry jumped off quickly, and ran in different directions. The commander's policy was well known: no infantry on his tank. The others thought it was a bit strange, but they loved seeing him chase after Infantrymen every now and then. One of the running soldiers tripped over a rock, and landed face down in a mud puddle left my the _Hunter's_ treads. Richie smiled, and looked at his tank with a grin. It almost seemed like the old girl had a sense of humor. The others laughed, and the muddy soldier got up and walked off upset. Yep, _Hunter_ was good for a laugh.

The crew went to the barracks, and relaxed in some of the bunks. The sun started to go down, and the crew closed their eyes. Tomorrow would be a long day, and they needed all the rest that they could get.


End file.
